Superdad
by NonaRose
Summary: Written for OQPromptParty2019 - Prompt #143; Mother's Day/Father's Day


**Day Five **

**Prompt #143 — Mother's Day/Father's Day **

* * *

Even in a magical town created by a dark curse, surrounded by fairytale characters, no one seemed to believe in the existence of superheroes—no one aside from little Roland Locksley.

Superman, Batman, Spiderman; they were nothing more than comic books' characters and, well, those might as well be, but superheroes were real. They didn't have to wear a special suit designed just for them or masks to keep their identities a mystery. They didn't need otherworldly powers and be able to move mountains or have the speed of light. They just needed a bow and some arrows.

And his superhero had loads of them, ones ornamented in feathers and others dipped in gold.

His superhero was also clumsy. He would trip over his own feet and walk into walls whenever he stared a little too much at Regina, which happened often and it was hilarious. He even face-planted the ground attempting to scare him once, and flipped a boat trying to shoo a bee while fishing with Henry, resulting in one of Regina's infamous lectures about safety and four days of a cold.

He was funny, too, a prankster. There wasn't a boring moment with him around, even though Regina would disagree. She didn't seem to find his humor amusing when he tricked her into believing there was a lizard hidden among the boxes in the basement and talked her into coming closer to get a better look, only to scream and scare her, sending her tumbling back on her bottom, or when he slammed a pie to her face on her birthday. They laughed over it for days, and she scowled and threatened with karma.

"My Papa," Roland began, glancing over at his father, then Regina as she beamed and Henry, who gave him the thumbs up, encouraging him to continue. "My Papa is Robin, some people call him Robin Hood!" he declared. "His arrow never misses, that's what he always says, but I saw him miss a few before." He giggled, bringing laughter to everyone around him, too.

"Tattletale," Robin accused playfully.

"I always knew Robin Hood wasn't as talented as he claims to be," Regina teased, nudging his side with her elbow, and he rolled his eyes with a scoff.

"He's not very good with the mic…mic…" Roland stuttered, his face flushing out of embarrassment. He was a good reader, but there were some words that were harder to pronounce than others.

"Microwave," one of his classmates seated at the very front whispered, then offered him a bright smile, one Roland sheepishly returned.

"The _microwave_," he said. "He almost burned down the house trying to use it once, but thank god Gina was home." He exhaled dramatically, and everyone around chuckled again.

"I didn't know you weren't supposed to put metal in it!" Robin justified.

"If you were't so busy ogling me that day, maybe you would've paid attention to everything I was saying," Regina murmured.

"Maybe," he agreed. "But you were wearing that purple dress and you know how much I love that one. It's hard to pay attention to anything when you're wearing it."

"He's really bad at most things. He can't even make toast for breakfast without burring it! But that's okay, because he's good at some other things." Roland grinned, big and bright. "He's good at telling stories and making me feel safe when there's a storm out. He's the best at hide and seek, and fighting imaginary monsters, and he's good at making Gina smile, and me and Henry laugh—I think he's good at making everybody laugh," he affirmed with a proud nod.

A few heads bobbed in agreement.

"It took _ages_ but he finally built me the treehouse he promised he's gonna build me. It's a little wobbly, Gina says it's probably not too safe, but I think it's awesome." Roland giggled excitedly. "So he's good at that, too. I think."

"I still don't think it's safe for him to play in it," Regina stressed.

"What do you mean?" Robin defended with a huff, "The treehouse is perfectly fine."

"You heard him, Robin. It's _wobbly_. That's the complete opposite of fine."

"It is not."

Regina narrowed her eyes in his direction, and he huffed again, sinking deeper into his chair with his arms folded in front of him.

"Maybe my Papa doesn't know many things," Roland continued, "and maybe he doesn't have magic to fight real monsters like Gina and Emma do, and Mr. Gold, or fly high like Superman does and kick the bad guys' butts with superpowers. He can't read people's minds, too—he said so to Gina many, many times before…"

"A six-year-old gets it," Robin mumbled.

"You don't need to be a mindreader to know that I want you to do the laundry from time to time, Robin—"

"Will you two stop bickering like an old married couple?" Mary Margaret hissed, shooting them both a stern glare. "It's not even a month since you tied the knot and you're already acting like you've been stuck with one another for the past five decades."

They murmured an apology and nestled back into each other, both fighting back a laugh. The Evil Queen and the Prince of Thieves were rebuked by none other than the sweet Snow White—who would've thought that day would ever come along?

"But my Papa is superhero to me. That's who my Papa is," Roland announced, receiving a round of applause. He looked up from his paper just in time to find his dad kneeling on the floor with his arms wide open, awaiting a hug. He shoved the note into his pocket and ran as fast as his little legs could carry him, throwing himself in his dad's embrace.

* * *

It was the Friday before Father's Day weekend. Roland's school prepared their students for the special day by giving them an assignment to work on beforehand, asking them to write something small about their dads and what made them so great to recite in front of them. Roland never asked for help with his, neither from him nor from Regina. In fact, Robin couldn't recall even seeing his boy write down a word throughout the week, but every time he was asked about it, Roland shrugged it off and claimed everything was going well. And, well, it seemed like he was right after all.

The speech was wonderful, a little embarrassing whenever he pinpointed his bad habits and flaws, nevertheless, it filled him with pride and brimmed his eyes with tears.

He saw himself as a good dad. He made it his goal to be everything to Roland that his own father wasn't, but never imagined this. It never crossed his mind that Roland saw him as great as he described, and most certainly not a hero.

The mansion was quiet. Both boys were fast asleep and Regina was enjoying her nightly bath, while he was left alone doing what he should've been doing ages ago—the damn laundry. It was late, but the clothes were piling up and if he left them be, Regina would take care of it early the next morning, and he wanted to be a good husband, he wanted to surprise her with something as little as that. It was his job as much as it was hers. They were in it together.

So he did what she taught him to do. First things first, check the pockets, especially the boys' just incase. So he dug his hand into every pocket of every pair of pants, fishing out a few cents from some, folded Post-it notes and…twigs out of Roland's? He snickered and set them aside before reaching for another pair of pants, the one Roland wore earlier to school. Inside of that one, he found a feather and a folded paper with the word _speech _scribbled on it with a crayon.

Oh, he was going to keep that one. He might as well frame it, too.

But as he unfolded it, there was nothing written on it. It was a blank page.

Then it set in.

Roland never wrote the speech. He simply said what came to his mind—what came from his heart. And for a man that didn't care about Father's Day, thought nothing of it more than an odd thing celebrated in an odd realm, that was the best Father's Day gift he could ask for.


End file.
